Page 11 of Untamed

My hands scrabble, seeking purchase on the rough-hewn wood floor. Claws erupt from my fingertips, catching on wood, creating splinters on Mama's freshly-lemon-soaped floor.

Mama.

I scramble towards her, but my vision is filled with black spots dancing merrily. Head swimming, I gag as my stomach revolts against the pain. I reach for Mama, but my hands are gone. I wobble to my feet. No... to my paws.

My she-wolf is frantic. Her Mama is in trouble. A wet nose nudges the beloved face. Nothing.

The itchy feeling is back. Whimpers are all I can hear as I crawl over Mama. She is gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

The word beats in my mind. It echoes in my wolf's heart.

I stumble on new limbs to the door, nudging it open and going outside. Tilting my head back, my she-wolf howls. The long, anguished sound of mourning fills the sky.

I run past the Point of Cessation into my forest. Pain throbs, every inch of me, of my she-wolf, hurts. My heart worst of all.

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4 - Blood and Flames

Alpha Jax

The howl makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. Shivers dance down my spine. It's a sound I recognize. My wolf makes that same fucking noise every time I'm stupid enough to think about the past. It's the sound of soul-deep agony.

My feet turn before I even register where I'm going. That howl sounded like a young wolf. Real damn young. Heart pounding a staccato sound, I change direction, heading northwest instead of north.

Fucking trappers and wilds are all that live up here, in the no-man's land between the northern packs and the mountains and RustClaw. I don't venture around here too often, but there'swarsniffing around my pack. So, I ventured out. I figured I would find out more by myself than with a group.

And I don't like being with others. Sad for an alpha of a pack, but true.

I trek to the west a little more, adjusting my path, trying to pinpoint where I heard that awful echo. There's not much else to follow; all my wolf's heightened senses can pick up are the scents of the forest and... meat cooking?

I grin ferally. Interesting smell. That sure as fuck suggests some sort of settlement, doesn't it? My wolf stares into the distance. It's hard to see against the sky quickly darkening into dusk, but I think I can spot a thin trail of smoke.

I don't realize that the cabin is there until I am nearly on top of it. My boots crunch over needles as I walk under some cedar trees and into a clearing with a cabin straight out of time warp from a couple of hundred years ago.

I scan the cabin, the yard, searching for any signs of life. I can smell blood from here, the smell of females and one lone male. Goddess. What the fuck did I just stumble across? Taking my time, I cautiously walk across the yard, making sure to approach the cabin on the side without windows. A little lean-to in the rear of the house is smoking. As night falls, I can see the wood starting to glow. Must be an untended fire. Before it all goes up in flames, I had better check out the source of the blood.

I walk around the corner of the cabin and catch the soft scent of the young wolf.

Shit, she's female. A new shifter, judging by the clean scent of blood, bone, and fur. I approach the door a little faster, already hating what I know I'll find.

From the doorway, I can see the male body right away. The room's so fucking small. The male is dying, his throat torn out. Nothing I can do for the poor fucker.

I see just a slim, white hand limp on the floor behind the male, and it spurs me to enter the cabin incautiously. My heart drops to my feet when I see her. The delicate female form is lying crumpled in a boneless heap. Dark tresses spill over half her face, matted with her blood. She's wearing a homespun cotton dress. Her shoes are simple woven leather. There's no scent on her, I realize. No smell of wolf; no rubber, no plastic, no synthetics.

Goddess, she's ahuman.

She's not the recently shifted female I heard earlier. Maybe in her early thirties? Gently I touch the bloody injuries on her chest. I use my claws to slice away the dress she's wearing with quick fingers. The wounds are deep, but they've stopped bleeding. When I pull it, some of the fabric tears away, making the female whimper softly. My wolf responds with a gentle rumble of reassurance that makes me pause. He hasn't made that noise inyears.

I brush the hair from her face, gently pulling it when it sticks to her skin because of the drying blood. It registers, remotely, that she's a pretty female. Like... what is the fairy tale that was a movie recently? Ah, fuck...Snow White, that's it. She looks like Snow White.

I prob the wounds delicately. She's in trouble, this one; deep lacerations, too much blood loss, and her skin is growing cold. I stand and look around the homely cabin. Goddess, it really is from the fucking time of settlers. What the hell is this shit?

Frustrated, feeling the weight of this fairy-tale female's life on my shoulders, I practically tear the cabin apart to find something to clean her wounds with.

There's no fucking indoor plumbing. Growling, I find a bucket of clean water on a small table next to a fireplace. There's no fire lit. I suppose this shithole would be too hot if they had it on. The only fire is in the burning meat locker, or whatever the hell it is, outside.

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